


Maybe One Day

by DistractedDream



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Angstshipping - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping, our boyfriend is dead, past thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedDream/pseuds/DistractedDream
Summary: The loss of the Spirit leaves a hole in both Ryou Bakura and Marik Ishtar. Marik wants nothing more than to make amends for the hurt he's caused Ryou. It's up to Ryou if he can forgive Marik one day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There are several references here to Marik and Bakura (Yami Bakura/The Ring Spirit) having been consensual lovers before the end of season 5. However! As the Spirit was using Ryou's body, and Ryou did NOT consent, Ryou sees their sex as a violation of his body. This is also labeled "angstshipping" though if that's enough of a spoiler-warning for you. IF THIS IS SOMETHING YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE READING, PLEASE CLOSE THIS AND ENJOY A DIFFERENT FIC. 
> 
> Much love to SerenityXStar for beta-reading! Please go read her stuff here on AO3.
> 
> I can be found on Twitter @DistracteDream and on Tumblr @DistractedDream. Please leave kudos or comments if you liked this! I appreciate every single one.

“Ba-” The two young men freeze, the name choking in one’s throat, the name tensing the shoulders of the other. “Ryou.” The white-haired Brit half-turns, regarding the blonde over his shoulder. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.” The Egyptian offers his right hand with a hopeful smile. “I’m Marik Ishtar.”

Chocolate eyes drop to his hand and then lift back to his face. There’s no emotion in his expression, one so carefully practiced and utilized for years under the Spirit’s use. “I know who you are.” The words fall like ice from his lips. He doesn’t turn to face him directly, but he doesn’t move on either, waiting.

The tension of the moment hangs between them like Marik’s hand in the air. He slowly drops it, the brightness of his smile dimming. “I didn’t know if you did. I didn’t know…” Marik falters, unsure of what to say to someone he’s known so intimately but has never actually known.

“You knew. You knew and you didn’t care. Neither of you did.” Ryou’s fists clench at his sides, his composure cracking. “You both used me. Used my body, you bastards.” He swivels, giving him his back, head falling forward on his shoulders. “And you think I don’t know you?” His laugh has no joy in it, only an exasperated frustration.

“Ryou,” Marik says as he reaches for him, hand falling on his left shoulder. He doesn’t need the Rod's mind connection to understand that he’s caused Ryou pain. “I’m sorry.”

Ryou spins to face Marik, knocking his hand off his shoulder. “You asshole!” His right palm connects with Marik’s cheek, the sound almost as startling as the sharp pain across his face. The Egyptian steps back, covering his reddened skin with his hand, lavender eyes wide in surprise. Tears cloud Ryou’s sight. “You knew the Spirit was using my body and you just invited yourself into my mind and tried to hurt my friends with him! And you… You two…” He swallows thickly, face heating. “Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry won’t ever be enough for what you both did to me.”

With those words, Marik’s stomach drops to his feet. Ryou had been aware of what they did. The Spirit had said his host was clueless but clearly he was wrong… or he lied. His stomach firmly returns to its proper place and he pales, feeling sick. Marik had worried about it briefly, barely, but then he’d wanted the Spirit and his own lust had been more important than any damage they would be doing to Ryou. His throat tightens, Ryou still watching him like he was dog shit on his shoe. “You’re right,” he forces the words out. “It’s not enough. But I am. Sorry, that is. I regret a lot of what I did back then, but how I treated you especially.”

The Brit’s chin tips up, eyes hardening. “I don’t have to listen to your excuses.” He makes no move to leave, despite his claim, held there by emotions that he still feared weren’t entirely his own. “You tried to risk my life for your bloody revenge.”

Marik winces at the accusation. “I did. I didn’t care about anyone but myself.” Ryou snorts and crosses his arms over his chest and Ra help him, Marik’s reminded so much of the Spirit then that his heart aches. “I’m trying to be better now. I don’t have the Rod. I don’t want to be like that anymore.” He rubs his cheek, Ryou’s handprint fading into a soft blush. “I want to be good.”

Before the Spirit, Ryou would have apologized for that mark on his skin. Before, he never would have done it. But he’s had to become hard to deal with what the Spirit did to him, to his friends. Otherwise, he fears he’d never be able to function. His brown eyes narrow. “I’m not a virgin anymore because of you.” It’s the closest he can bring himself to say what really happened and how he feels about it. Marik hangs his head, shame overwhelming him. “You want to be good. And I want my virginity back. I want the years of my life I lost back. Sorry doesn’t make you good any more than it takes away what I went through.” Ryou shakes his head and pivots away from the other man, starting up the stairs. “Maybe one day, I’ll remember what it’s like to be good and to be whole and then I’ll forgive you. One day.”

Ryou disappears into the sunlight, the voices of his friends echoing down to Marik in the tomb. “One day,” he murmurs before following him up the stairs.

 

* * *

_Unknown: Joey gave me your number. It’s Marik._

Ryou stares at his cell phone, exceedingly tempted to ignore the text and ream Joey out instead. It’s been months since he was in Egypt and while he’s been healing, thanks to his friends, his studies, and a weekly appointment with a therapist, some wounds are still too deep. Yet curiosity gets the best of him and he replies.

_Ryou: Why are you texting me?_

Marik almost drops his phone, half expecting that he’d be blocked immediately. He sighs in relief and quickly taps out a reply.

_Marik: It’s his birthday._

The phone bounces on the sofa and to the floor from Ryou’s throw. He paces his living room, his anger building until he needs an outlet. His therapist has coached him to allow himself to feel the anger, but he doubts she’d be very proud of him for this reaction. He grabs his phone and sits on the floor as he answers.

_Ryou: He was a Spirit. Ghosts don’t have birthdays. What on God’s earth would possess you to think I’d care to remember his birthday?! Get yourself off and leave me alone._

_Ryou: Do you even know when MY birthday is?! Do you even care? Still a self-centered asshole, aren’t you?_

Marik is in the middle of replying to the first text when the second comes in, staring at the screen. He had been holed up in his room since the night before, mourning a lover who died three thousand years ago. Birthdays, not even others' birthdays, haven't been a cause for celebration since Marik was ten years old. Maybe one day Marik would feel more than dread for his own birthday. He thought Ryou would want comfort, that maybe they could connect over this day. “Damn it,” he mutters. No, he was only thinking of himself and his own loss. He chooses his next message carefully.

_Marik: No, but I'd like to know when yours is._

The blonde waits with his phone for several hours, but ultimately, he’s not surprised when he doesn’t get a reply. One day is not today.

 

* * *

The next time Ryou hears from Marik is via email.

_Ryou,_

_Ishizu is coming to Domino City to help with another exhibit at the museum in a few weeks. Odion and I are coming with her. Yugi says some of our time coincides with your winter break. If you’re staying in the city, I’d like to see you. Just text me if you want to grab a coffee. Please?_

Ryou’s not sure why he doesn’t delete it automatically. He has no reason to see Marik. He has no reason to give him any bit of his energy. Yet he doesn’t trash the message, leaving it to linger in his inbox.

He avoids the museum during finals and winter break, thankful he’s not scheduled to work, and ends up avoiding Yugi and Joey as well after calling once to find Marik over at Yugi’s house. Yugi never pushes, never brings it up, but Ryou can see the disappointment in his eyes over their weekly brunch. Ryou can’t stand it and the next day, he texts Marik.

_Ryou: I prefer tea._

Marik’s heart jumps to his throat when Ryou’s text arrives. He’s packing to return to Egypt, his flight leaving in the predawn hours of the morning. He bites his lip. If he’s a little less meticulous, he can throw everything into his bags and make time to see Ryou.

_Marik: Tea would be great._

Ryou sends him an address for a nearby teahouse and tells him to be there in thirty minutes. He doesn’t ask, the sweet polite Ryou still too defensive to let his walls down for Marik. He pulls on his blue coat, his favorite color, and wraps a white scarf around his neck, heading downtown.

In his hotel room, Marik changes into something presentable, shrugging into his leather jacket as he dashes to the elevator. Thirty-five minutes later, Marik shakes a dusting of snow from his hair and shoes, smiling at the hostess who leads him to where Ryou waits. He sits at a table for two, sipping his tea, not acknowledging Marik standing there awkwardly. “Hey.”

The Brit sets his mug down, still not looking at him. “Sit down.” He pours a cup of tea for Marik and pushes it across the table, the closest thing to an invitation he’s going to get. Marik slips off his jacket before taking the seat across from Ryou, drinking from the cup. He opens his mouth to say thank you but Ryou holds up his hand. "You know this doesn't mean you're forgiven." Ryou brings his tea cup to his lips, not looking at Marik as he speaks.

Marik doesn’t hide his dejection quickly enough, eyes on his teacup. He had figured that the overture hadn't meant absolution, but he'd still been hopeful. "Is it at least a start?" He watches Ryou, hurt clear on his face, though he knows that he has no right to feel that. "I don't guess you have any reason to forgive me, but I hoped maybe one day..." His words trail off, fidgeting with his mug.

Ryou's eyes narrow at first, so secure in his prejudice that Marik would expect forgiveness, that he would demand it. This softer Marik, the man who looks almost nervous sitting at the table with him, wasn't anticipated. Marik genuinely being contrite and not demanding Ryou forgive him is a mental adjustment for the Brit. His expression goes more neutral, voice low. "What did you hope?"

Marik sighs, finger trailing around the rim of his cup. "I don't know," he confesses. "I regret a lot of what I did when I had the Rod. Especially that I hurt you. That we hurt you." He swallows, eyes trained on the floor as he blinks away a sudden wetness. "I know I said all this in Egypt, but… It wasn't right and I'm sorry for what we did."

Chocolate eyes study him. The tears are a surprise, the remorse clear in Marik's tone. Through long practice, Ryou keeps his voice even. "Did you love him?"

The words hurt. They cut into Marik, his heart clenching in his chest. He closes his lavender eyes. "I... I don't know. Other than Ishizu and Odion, I don't know if I know how." Marik's voice breaks as he opens his eyes to meet Ryou's. "I would have liked to find out though."

It's Ryou's turn to look away, staring blindly out the window. "He cared about you." He ignores the choked sound Marik makes. "I doubt he would have ever admitted it. It's why he agreed to fight your darker half. It's why he let you fuck my body." Ryou doesn't react when the Egyptian puts his elbows on the table, head in his hands. "It's taken me a long time to accept that he cared about you more than me."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Marik murmurs into his hands, shoulders shaking. This, this was worse than Ryou never forgiving him. To know the Spirit had cared and was gone and Marik would never know, should have never known... And the guilt, the overwhelming shame of what he did to Ryou, what his actions make him, make him break down. Ryou doesn't say anything, doesn't reach out to comfort him as he cries. It takes several long minutes but Marik finally draws in deep breaths, trying to get his emotions under control. "Did you..." He wipes at his eyes with the heels of his palms, voice cracking. He needs to know now, after Ryou’s words. "Did you love him?"

"Yes." Ryou doesn't hesitate with his answer. "My therapist thinks it's only Stockholm Syndrome." The Brit shrugs, only a quiet sniffle betraying the emotions he's hiding. "But I think, at one point, I did love him."

Marik cups his hands around his tea mug, eyes glassy and nose red from his tears. "I'm so sorry." The words stick in his throat. He drinks his now cold tea. He can't taste it but the liquid soothes his throat enough to speak. "I'm sorry, Ryou."

Ryou drags his hand down his face. He can't maintain his emotional wall when Marik looks so wretched in front of him. He'd never thought Marik would be sincere yet here they are. Ryou's fingers tap against the tabletop, weighing his next words. "September 2nd." Marik wipes at his eyes again, brows furrowed as he looks at Ryou. "My birthday. It's September 2nd. You said you wanted to know."

It's nothing, it's a date, nothing more, but it dries Marik's tears, the tight feeling in his chest easing slightly. "Thank you," he breathes out. Ryou nods to indicate he heard, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

"I'm going to go. Have a safe flight back to Egypt." He stands to tug on his coat, noting the hint of a smile on Marik's face at the mention of his homeland. Ryou drops some money on the table for the tip, but he can't make himself walk away from Marik yet. "When's your birthday?"

Lavender eyes blink up at him in surprise. A "fuck off" or "don't contact me again" would have been more expected than Ryou asking for his birthday. "Uh," he stammers, a faint blush merging with the tear-stained color on his face. "Tomorrow, actually."

For a moment, shorter than it takes Marik to say the words, Ryou almost thinks he looks fetching, even in his emotional state. He casts the thought aside, trying to school his face back into the detached expression that was the Spirit's nature, but he fails with his eyes. Marik doesn't look away, doesn't beg for his forgiveness before he goes. He just waits, lost in Ryou's soft brown eyes. When he speaks, Ryou's voice is just as gentle as his gaze.

"Happy birthday, Marik." With that, he sticks his hands in his pockets and forces himself to leave, scared of the little crack in his protective barrier into which Marik just wormed his way.

 

* * *

A few days after the new year, a horror movie plays on his tv but Ryou isn't paying attention, lost in his own thoughts. He's bored and if he admitted it, a bit lonely. Since the Spirit was banished, life had been quiet. That was supposed to be a good thing. Times like now, though, when he hadn't seen his friends in a few days, school was still out and the museum didn't need him to work with the smaller crowds, he missed the troublesome Spirit. At least then he'd had someone to talk to. He idly toys with his phone. There's one person who would understand, one person to whom he could say he missed the Spirit and wouldn't judge him or schedule a therapy session or yell at him. He shakes his head, leaving his phone on the sofa as he pads to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine.

A couple of glasses later, Ryou finds the phone back in his hand, Marik's messages open on the screen.

_Ryou: How's Egypt?_

Almost halfway around the world, Marik laughs over a card game with his siblings. Not Duel Monsters, of course. He could never bring himself to play it again after Battle City, but a simple game with no wagers and no life points. Marik feels his phone vibrate but he doesn't check it right away, sucked into the current round. While Odion shuffles for the next hand, he glances at the screen, eyes widening when he sees Ryou's name.

"Brother? Is all well?" Ishizu places her hand on his arm, ever the concerned older sister. Even after everything Marik had done with the Rod, even though he'd grown taller than her finally, she still doted on him as her baby brother.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's..." He still can't believe it, rereading the short text. "It's Ryou. Wants to know how Egypt is."

Odion deals the cards, hesitating with a card in front of Marik. "Should I deal you in?" Marik nods, picking up his phone to tap out a quick reply before the round starts.

_Marik: Good! Had a cold snap. How's Japan?_

It feels exceedingly strange to reply like he would to anyone else, but Ryou messaged him first with such a generic question. Marik shakes his head, blonde fringe around his eyes, leaving his device on the table. He's in the middle of his second turn when his phone buzzes again.

_Ryou: Snowing again. It's pretty and it's still break so not too disruptive._

_Ryou: How are you?_

Ryou drops his phone onto the sofa, rolling his eyes at himself. It was so pathetic to ask Marik, Marik damn it, how he was doing. As if they had any sort of relationship. As if Ryou cared. Yet when the phone pings again with a reply, he jumps for it.

_Marik: Alright. Ishizu and Odion say hi. Playing cards. You?_

The round goes much slower than their previous hands. Ishizu asks Marik a million questions for Ryou, but he waves them off, only sharing the initial greeting. He's losing horribly, unable to focus on his cards. His teeth scrape his lower lip, eyes frequently darting to the phone.

The Brit isn't sure how to answer as he pours another glass of wine. Technically, he's fine. He can reply with that and let the conversation, a conversation he initiated, die. But then he'd be right back where he was before, only with a buzz from the wine. And doesn't wine make truth-tellers of everyone?

_Ryou: I miss him._

Marik heart jumps to his throat and he folds, laying his cards on the table. He snatches up his phone, making his apologies as he dashes from the table back to his room, typing.

_Marik: Wanna talk? Gimme a minute and I can video-call you._

The Egyptian is already firing up his laptop, dragging it to his bed, hands shaking with the hope that maybe, just maybe, this is a good sign.

Ryou eyes his own laptop, taking another drink of wine while he considers. "Bugger," he mutters, grabbing it off the coffee table and pulling it into his lap. He has to set down his wine glass, but he gets the machine running and opens the program, finally replying to Marik's text.

_Ryou: Use my email. I'm up._

Marik types in Ryou's information, self-consciously picking at lint on his tee as he waits for the video call to connect. When he hears the tone, he looks back at the screen. It's dark, Ryou's face glowing ethereally from the light of the laptop screen. Even so, Marik can pick out the flush on Ryou's cheeks and nose, his own cheeks heating as Ryou smiles. It's a true smile, one Marik hasn't seen on that face since Yugi beat the Pharaoh in the Ceremonial Duel, one that's certainly never been directed his way before.

"Hey!" Ryou waves, actually waves at the screen, and Marik's lips twitch into a smile.

"Looks like you're in better spirits than I thought you might be," Marik says, readjusting his screen.

The other man laughs, the sound tinny through Marik's speakers. "Spirits. That's funny." Marik winces, but Ryou only laughs again. "Did you think I'd be crying? I do kind of feel like it."

Marik shakes his head. "I didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't to see you smiling at me." He traces the edge of his laptop. "I'm sorry you feel like crying though."

Ryou's hand waves in front of the screen. "I've been drinking. It's hard to be all stoic with alcohol. Thought I'd text you because... Because..." His words fade, frowning at the screen.

"Because you miss him and I'm the only one who'd understand and not judge you for that?" Marik smiles fondly, continuing when Ryou nods. "I miss him too. That's not why I've tried to make amends though. I really do regret what we did. I really do want to know you."

White hair cascades over Ryou's shoulder as he tips his head. "Why? I don't understand that. We're not friends. You didn't know me before so you don't have any reason to want to know me now. Do you need to be forgiven that badly?"

Marik's eyes dart to something off-screen, teeth over his lip again. It's difficult to admit aloud, but Ryou's watching him curiously, that disaffected look he'd worn last time they saw each other gone, thanks to the alcohol. He pulls his eyes back to the screen. "I have dissociative identity disorder." He laughs though it's self-depreciating. "And narcissistic personality disorder. I'm fucked up."

"Marik..." Ryou's voice is barely a whisper, brows creased.

"That doesn't excuse what I did, especially not to you. I've been going to therapy twice a week and I live with Ishizu so she keeps an eye on me and..." He takes a deep breath. "My therapist thinks that I want your forgiveness as a sign that I'm all better. He's probably right. I want to be better. I don't want to be a power-trippy selfish crazy brat like I was before." Marik groans. "I'm talking too much."

Ryou doesn't say anything. His fingers play with his hair, plaiting the strands as he takes in what the other said. "They thought I had a split personality. I found a therapist through church and that's when someone finally accepted that I'd been possessed." His fingers move absently to another section of hair, braiding that as well. "Had to have a really long visit with the priest after that, but since then, I only have my weeklies with the therapist." His eyes focus back on the screen and Marik. "If I forgave you, would you stop going to therapy?"

The blonde's hair dances around his face as he shakes his head. "No. Growing up in a cult messed me too much to function without consistent help. I'm okay with that. I'd rather be able to live without hurting people." A smile teases his lips. "I still want to be good. I was bad since I was ten and I'm ready to try being good."

A series of small braids start decorating Ryou's hair. "I don't know if I can forgive you for everything. Even if the Spirit consented, it was my body and I didn't."

Marik's eyes drop to the blanket under him. "I'm not sure I can forgive myself for that. But..."

"But you don't regret making love to the Spirit?" Marik doesn't answer. "I've been angry at you for so long and jealous of you before that." Marik looks back to the screen, shocked that Ryou would envy him. "I didn't consider losing the Spirit would be hard on you. Or maybe I did but I didn't care. Like you didn't care about him using my body." The other man opens his mouth to protest, but Ryou continues. "And in that respect, while I can't forgive you, maybe I can understand you." Ryou reaches down for his wine, having dumbfounded Marik. "Know what I miss most? His snark. The movie I was watching was dreadfully boring but his comments would have salvaged it."

Marik flounders for a minute. "There... He... Ah." He shifts, laying on his stomach in front of the laptop, the change in position giving him a chance to think about how to respond. "I miss bantering with him. He was the first person since I went crazy who I felt like was closer to my equal. I couldn't dominate him."

"Except in bed," Ryou points out, watching as Marik's cheeks turn a lovely shade of coral.

"Topping isn't really dominating." He doesn't try to deflect or excuse what they did. "I would have let him top one day."

"Maybe. One day." Ryou covers a yawn. "Still wouldn't have been right."

"I know," Marik whispers. "What time is it there?"

Ryou's eyes flick to the clock in the screen corner. "About 2:30. Why?" He rubs at his eye.

"You should get to bed." Marik hates to let him go, to end the call and break the connection they're building, but Ryou is clearly about to fall asleep on him. "You look like a Viking with your hair braided like that."

The color on the Brit's wine-flushed cheeks deepens. "I'll brush it out before bed."

"I like it." The statement leaves Marik before he realizes what he's said, shoulders tensing, uncertain how Ryou would react. He giggles. Ryou fucking giggles at Marik's compliment, like they're kids flirting and they both thank alcohol for the brief moment to forget everything between them and just be. "Ryou-"

He's cut off though Ryou's voice is as sweet as only he can be. "You're right about going to bed. Thanks for calling me."

"Sure, thanks for texting me." Marik chews on his lip, knowing he needs to let Ryou go. "Sleep well." Ryou waves, fucking waves, again, and ends the call. Marik closes his laptop, face hidden against the bedding, hope firmly taking root in his chest. It's only 7:30 and Ishizu will have dinner soon so he forces himself up, calling out to them as he opens his door. "You better deal me in the next hand!"

 

* * *

Their random texts slowly become daily texts and infrequent video calls one day turn into a standing Wednesday occurrence.

"Do you miss your darker half?" Ryou asks once, sitting at his kitchen table. They've never discussed it outside of when they've talked about Marik's disorder.

"Not at all. He was batshit." Marik sits on his floor, curled up in a patch of sunlight. He's glowing, but Ryou doesn't comment on that.

"Maybe we should have called him Guano." Marik arches a fine brow at him, earring swinging. "Sorry," Ryou says though he grins.

"We called the Spirit Bakura. I thought that it must be from everyone being fooled that he was you, but you never call him anything but Spirit. Why?"

The Brit taps his fingers on the table. "The Spirit could never remember his name or the names of his family. Just Kul Elna and Diabound. Wasn't the name a part of the soul in his time?"

Marik nods, stretching in the sunlight and Ryou does not notice the muscles of his triceps, definitely not, no way. "Our ren. As long as our names live on, we live on." Marik's arms drop to his side. "...oh."

"Yeah," Ryou responds. "And his ka was destroyed before he was sealed in the Ring. No name, no ka..."

"He was only sheut. Though I guess his ba survived." Marik resumes stretching and Ryou thinks of a cat, tipping his head curiously. "Ba, his personality."

Ryou snorts, getting up to get a glass of water. "He had that in spades. What are the other parts?"

"Ib or heart." His palms rest over his chest. Marik looks so calm and Ryou's dying to ask him if he does yoga or meditates because this centered, peaceful Marik is so different from the angry, cruel young man he'd seen through the Spirit during Battle City. "That's it."

"Did your other personality have any of those?" Ryou returns to the table, drinking from his glass.

Marik chews on his lip, thinking. "Ba, duh. He was basically a sheut, so sure. Ah, ka... He must have or else he couldn't have taken over. Ren?" He shakes his head. "He didn't have a name other than my own. And heart? No way."

"So he wasn't whole either." Marik shrugs in reply. "How's therapy?"

The Egyptian beams. "Down to once a week! Doctor's suggestion. Yours?"

Ryou smiles, tracing his finger over Marik's cheek on the screen. "She's starting to ask why I'm still seeing her."

"Do you think we're healing?"

"Yeah, maybe one day." Their talk shifts back to safer topics, though neither stops smiling for a long time even after the call ends.

 

* * *

Ryou hasn't had attention lavished on him like this for years. Ishizu fusses over him, feeding him way too much food and keeping his teacup filled until he has to beg her to stop. He had come to Egypt to visit his dad and added a few days to his trip, at Marik's invitation and Ishizu's insistence, to see the Ishtars. He and Marik had been nervous when they first saw each other, but Ishizu's chattering soon distracted them and Ryou found himself in the living room, leaning into Marik to whisper in his ear. They both started laughing, Ishizu merely smiling at them, any nerves quickly dispelled.  
  
They were almost inseparable during Ryou's visit. Marik showed him around the city on his bike, taking him to the museum where Ishizu gave them a personal tour, different landmarks and mosques and little coffee shops and restaurants for lunch and Ryou almost dreaded his last day. They all had been playing cards, Ryou even winning a few hands though he suspected they were throwing the game. Finally, Ishizu said she was going to a friend's house for the evening, both she and Odion hugging Ryou tightly before leaving together. Marik and Ryou cleaned up quietly and took turns getting ready for bed. They hesitated in the hall, Marik in his boxers, Ryou in his tee and sleep pants.

"Do you need help packing?" Marik offers.

"No, I did most of it earlier." Ryou's fingers work through his hair, plaiting the strands again.

Mark knows he should say good night, that he should retire to the sofa where he's been sleeping while Ryou slept in his bed. Those aren't the words that come out of his mouth though. "Would you like to braid my hair?"

Ryou's hand falls from his own hair, eyes wide. "Um, yeah. Yeah, sure, if you want me to." Marik nods, grabbing his brush off the bathroom counter, and following Ryou to the bedroom. The Brit sits cross-legged on the mattress, patting it. "Sit here in front of me."

"Facing you or...?" Marik pauses, his knee on the edge of the bed.

"Facing. I'll do little braids like mine." Marik seats himself in front of Ryou, both falling into a comfortable silence as Ryou pulls the brush through his hair. He starts a braid behind Marik's ear. "You look so different without your kohl and jewelry."

Marik keeps his hands in his lap and concentrates on sitting still. "I was going to bed."

"I didn't say you looked bad." He sections another chunk of hair, plaiting that as quick as the first. He shifts to his knees as he works his way around his head, both men finding the action soothing. "There." Ryou pats Marik's head, looking down on him from the raised position.

Marik tips his head back. "How do I look now? Do I look like a Viking?" Ryou's pupils spread over his irises. The low lamplight casts shadows over Marik's skin, accentuating his features and muscles, his hair almost the color of the gold, eyes like amethyst. Ryou's fingers caress Marik's cheekbone, tracing where his kohl would be.

"You look like a god." The words leave Ryou in little more than a breath, Marik's eyes opening wider as Ryou's own go half-lidded. Ryou cups Marik's face, lifting it as he bends down, their lips meeting with featherlight contact. Marik inhales sharply through his nose, hands fisting in his lap. Ryou pulls back enough to look into Marik's eyes and with a hungry sigh, presses back down into the kiss, Marik's arms snaking around his waist as he gives himself over to Ryou's kisses.

Ryou tastes like mint from his toothpaste and Marik opens his mouth, letting Ryou’s tongue in to slide against his. The bite of the mint is sharp against the cinnamon from Marik’s own toothpaste. Marik’s lips curve around Ryou’s tongue, sucking, making the white-haired man moan. He shifts, Marik uncurling his legs, planting his feet on the mattress, knees open. Ryou moves closer to kneel between the blonde’s thighs. Ryou’s hands slip to Marik’s shoulders, fingertips hitting the edges of his wing scars.

They both freeze and break away. Ryou’s blushing cheeks remind Marik of cherry blossoms, his kiss-swollen lips looking like he had been enjoying a popsicle in the summer. He’s gorgeous in a delicate way and Marik can only stare at Ryou as he settles back to sit on his heels, his hands drawing away from the scars.

“I don’t know why I did that.” Ryou doesn’t look away, holding his fingers to his own lips. “I shouldn’t have…” His words fail, lost in Marik’s eyes.

Marik’s hands fall back into his lap. “It’s okay.” It’s not, not at all, but he can’t say that, he doesn’t have the right to tell Ryou how he wants to get lost in the taste of his kisses and his hands on his skin.

There’s no time. If Ryou had another week, another day in Egypt, maybe they could work through this slower, but his flight leaves tomorrow and he won’t get this chance again. Not like this. Ryou’s tongue peeks out over his lips. “This wouldn’t mean I forgive you. And, I swear, if you call me by the name he stole from me, I will leave and stay at a hotel tonight.”

The Egyptian’s eyes widen. “No! I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, reaching for Ryou’s hands. “I want to kiss you, Ryou. If you’d let me.” Marik leans closer, bridging the space between them, tilting his head slightly. “May I kiss you?” Ryou nods, surprised at the gentle way Marik closes the gap to kiss him.

It’s not like what he felt when Marik and the Spirit fucked. That was hard and bruising and desperate. This is tender and careful and Ryou shivers as Marik drags his tongue over his lips. Marik’s palms move up Ryou’s arms and shoulders, slipping into his hair, while Ryou’s hands brace on Marik’s knees, leaning forward into the kiss. They make-out until they’re both panting, until Marik pulls Ryou down on top of his chest, mouthing at his neck, Ryou holding to his shoulders. He’s found if he pays particular attention to a spot behind Ryou’s ear, Marik can get him to make the best noises.

Ryou straightens his legs, letting his hips drop down onto Marik’s, both moaning as their erections become trapped between their bodies. Ryou rolls his hips, Marik pulling away from his skin, pressing his head back into the sheets as he gasps, fingers tensing on Ryou’s back. White hair curtains around their faces as Ryou lifts his head, eyes dark and worried. “Marik?”

Marik’s certain he has never blushed so deeply in his life. “I, ah…” His thighs squeeze Ryou’s hips as he lifts his own to rub their lengths together again. Ryou’s eyes roll back, hands fisting against the mattress. “If we keep that up, I’ll cum in my boxers.” He gives him a wry smile, tucking Ryou’s hair behind his ears.

“Maybe we should stop, if you don’t want to get dirty.” Ryou tries to wriggle from between Marik’s thighs but Marik’s hands on his arms making him hesitate, only getting as far as straddling his leg.

“I don’t care about getting dirty.” Marik rubs Ryou’s arms and shoulders, spreading his hair over his hands. “I care about not hurting you again.”

The Brit stares at him for several long moments. He brings his knee up, pressing his thigh against Marik’s crotch, smiling when Marik squirms. A flick of his eyes down their bodies confirms a small wet patch on Marik’s boxers. Ryou wedges a hand between them, palming his erection. The blonde bucks into his hand, eyes closing with a whimper. “You won’t hurt me this time,” he whispers into Marik’s ear. His hand works Marik’s shaft through his boxers, kissing his neck. When Ryou’s lips graze the joint of his neck and shoulder, Marik thrusts into his hand, thigh tensing between Ryou’s legs.

“Ryou. Ah, Ra, Ryou!” Marik breathes heavily, cupping the back of Ryou’s head, keeping him against his shoulder. He’s moving heedlessly into Ryou’s hand, his moans echoed by Ryou’s as he humps against Marik’s thigh. The friction of their bodies and clothes brings both closer to the edge. “Ryou, Ryou, Ryouuuuu…” Marik lets go of Ryou, coherent enough to worry about hurting him, fisting the sheets. He cries out as he cums under his boxers, clinging to the bedding.

The other man moans, moving his hips faster, limbs trembling with his own orgasm just out of reach. “D-damn it. Damn it!” Ryou whines in frustration, feeling so close and unable to get there. “I can’t.”

The blonde’s limbs feel loose and heavy after his orgasm, but Ryou’s jerking movements stir him enough to roll Ryou to his back, allowing Marik to slide down his body. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of his pajama pants, only stopping when Ryou grabs at his hands, eyes wide. Marik waits, though he can feel the heat from Ryou’s skin, the tension in his muscles, he waits until Ryou nods for him to continue. He tugs the sleep pants down enough to wrap his fingers around his length, stroking a few times before lowering his mouth down over his head.

Ryou moans, fingers tangling in Marik’s braided hair, hips hitching higher. Marik relaxes his jaw and throat, letting Ryou fuck his mouth, tongue pressed along his shaft. Ryou tastes clean and warm and he only lifts enough to lap the precum away from his tip, lips sealing around his shaft once more. Ryou’s noises are soft, needy, broken by the deep breaths he’s taking and Marik sucks hard, humming. “OH GOD!” Ryou screams as he finally orgasms, throbbing in Marik’s mouth.

Marik swallows, wrinkling his nose at the feel of the jizz going down his throat, and sits up. Ryou looks like erotic art in Marik’s eyes, white hair spread over the sheets, face and skin flushed, eyes unfocused and heavy lidded. He bends down, brushing his lips over Ryou’s, fingers caressing his face to move the sticky hair off his skin. “I should let you sleep.” Ryou doesn’t respond at first, still drifting in the afterglow, eyes unfocused as he looks up at Marik. Marik looks like the god Ryou had called him, all disheveled hair and sweat-shiny flushed skin.

The bed shifts as Marik moves to leave, bringing Ryou out of his haze enough to reach for him. “Stay.”

The Egyptian pauses, smiling down at him. “I’ll clean up and come right back.” He kisses Ryou’s forehead, righting Ryou’s clothes and pulling a sheet over him. Though he hurries to wipe off, brush his teeth, and change into dry boxers, Ryou falls asleep before Marik returns. He crawls in next to him and lays on his stomach, face turned to Ryou. When Ryou rolls over and snuggles against his side, Marik holds his breath, afraid of waking him.

Ryou’s eyes slit open, words slurred with sleep. “Maybe one day, I won’t have to leave.”

Marik smiles, tears welling in his eyes. “Yeah, one day.”

 

* * *

“It’s in poor taste!” Ryou leaves the video-call running as he paces in his kitchen, Marik curled up at his desk on the screen. “That ignorant bastard! We almost died during Battle City and he wants to have a damned anniversary tournament! God!” He slams the kettle down on the stove, turning the burner on. “I am so mad!”

Back in Egypt, Marik tucks his mouth behind his knees, chuckling. They’d both received flashy invitations from Seto Kaiba, courtesy of KaibaCorp, for the fifth anniversary of the Battle City tournament. The part that amused Marik the most was that it was really their darker halves who should have been asked to attend. “Are you going?”

“Going?! No way.” Ryou rifles through his tea, pulling out a bag. “The only part of Battle City I had control of my own body for was when I went to the hospital.” Marik winces, Ryou missing it as he preps his tea cup. “One of the worst times of my life. I don’t want to celebrate it.”

“No, of course not.” Marik toys with his invitation. “Ishizu and Odion were invited too. I think Ishizu’s planning to go.”

Ryou’s head turns back to the screen. “Does that mean you’re coming?” The other man shrugs, his bare shoulder moving with the motion. “I-” The tea kettle whistles and Ryou pulls it off the burner, his back to the laptop. The routine of making tea calms him and the prospect of seeing Marik again makes the whole circus of a tournament seem more appealing. “You could stay with me if you come.”

“Returning the favor from when you stayed with us?” The blonde smiles at Ryou as he sits back in front of the laptop.

He stirs his tea, an answering soft smile on his face. “I prefer to think of it as letting my friend crash at my place when he’s in town.” Ryou blushes and focuses on his tea. “You won’t have to sleep on the sofa either.”

Marik waits until Ryou looks back at the screen. “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed.”

“Maybe one day you won’t.”

 

* * *

Marik finds himself pressed back against Ryou’s door, suitcase dropped haphazardly onto the floor. Ryou’s arms loop around his neck, Marik’s around Ryou’s back. Neither can say hello with Ryou’s tongue down Marik’s throat. They haven’t seen each other since Ryou was in Egypt and while they’ve behaved innocently enough on their texts and chats, the memory of their last night together is still fresh. Ryou breaks for air first. “Sorry, I… I missed you.”

The Egyptian’s fingers card through Ryou’s hair. “We talked last night.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Ryou pulls back, waiting as Marik slips off his shoes, taking his hand to lead him into the living room. “Did Ishizu go to the stadium?”

He settles on the sofa and Marik sits next to him. “She did. KaibaCorp branding everywhere. Yet I’m the megalomaniac.” He grins, drawing a giggle from Ryou. They can laugh about some things now but some topics are still verboten. Maybe one day. Marik eyes a dark gray metal cross hanging around Ryou’s neck. “What’s that?”

“What?” He looks down as Marik taps the pendant. “Oh. Well, with everything going on now, my therapist and I thought it’d be good to have a little extra protection. The priest blessed it for me. Iron is supposed to be a ward.” He shrugs a shoulder. "It helps keep the memories quiet."

Marik lifts the cross off his neck. “It’s heavy.”

“Lighter than the Ring was.” Ryou smiles wryly.

“Are you worried?” Marik pets over Ryou’s hair, pleased when he relaxes under his touch.

“Aren’t you?”

The blonde grins, leaning over Ryou. “Why do you think I’m here?” The Brit’s hand snakes up into Marik’s hair, arching up, as Marik kisses him.

 

* * *

“KaibaCorp welcomes you to the Inaugural Battle City Anniversary Duel Tournament!”

As the stadium crowd cheers, Ryou leans into Marik so he can hear him. “How in the bloody hell did you talk me into this?!” Marik smirks and squeezes Ryou’s hand, dropping it before the movement can be seen. He’s proud of Ryou for showing up, even if it means Marik will be on his knees later. A spring breeze pulls a few strands of hair from Ryou’s braid, the still cool air bringing a flush to his cheeks. Ryou shifts, adjusting his white scarf nervously where it hangs against his navy blazer. He had dressed sharply because even though he dreaded the thought of being in the spotlight, he knew Kaiba would have the cameras on all the participants.

Marik, however, never gave up his love of attention. His pointed earrings gleam in the stadium lights, polished to a high shine. His leather jacket is new but artfully distressed to seem vintage. Ryou had given him grief for buying something new that looked old, but Marik didn’t care. Ryou hadn’t either after Marik dragged him back into the fitting room.

Neither listens much to the KaibaCorp drone go over the history of the original Battle City tournament which means Ryou is caught by surprise when the camera pans to him and his name echoes through the speakers. He manages a small wave though he knows the cheers are really for the banished Spirit, not him. Odion would have been introduced next, but he had declined his invitation. The camera moves on to introduce the rest of the players – Mai, Ishizu, Joey, Seto – before getting to Marik. He beams at the camera, though it’s not really for him either, but attention is attention. Finally, Yugi’s name is announced, barely heard over the noise of the crowd.

Ryou doesn’t realize his hand is shaking until Marik reaches for him again, a look of concern on his face. He shakes his head though part of him wants to turn and run. The Spirit would have loved this, would have loved the chance to show everyone how great he is in a duel. The Pharaoh is gone to dwell in the fields of Aaru but the Spirit still lingers in Ryou's mind. He grips the cross around his neck, knuckles stark white. His arm aches and Ryou has to remind himself this isn’t Battle City, he’s in control, he’s safe, the Spirit is in the Shadow Realm. He feels Marik shift closer, head ducked down to Ryou.

“Hey, stay with me. Breathe. They’re gone. I promise.” When Ryou looks at him, the whites are completely visible around his irises, his chain of thoughts spiraling him into a panic. “Shit. Ryou, you aren’t going to be hurt.” Marik lifts his head, catching Yugi’s eyes, worry clear enough on his face that Yugi works his way over to them.

“Ryou?” The shorter man leans into the Brit. “It’s almost over. Seto’ll have them make the usual pompous speech and then we can all go have a drink. Hang in there.”

“I shouldn’t have come.” Ryou’s entire body trembles, unaware when Marik places his hand on his back, both he and Yugi sheltering him from the crowd and cameras. “He’ll come back. He’ll come back one day and I’ll be gone and-”

“No, no you won’t.” Marik gestures with his head toward the back of the platform, guiding Ryou out of the lights with Yugi’s help. “Yugi? Water?” He rushes for the stash of water bottles and Marik helps Ryou out of his jacket, rolling his shirtsleeves up. “Come on, habibi. You’re so strong. He’s not coming back. We beat them, okay? They’re gone and we’re here.”

Yugi opens the bottle and presses it to Ryou’s lips. “He’s right, you know? Our other selves are in Aaru.” Marik frowns and Yugi couches his words. “Or the Shadow Realm. Either way, they aren’t in us anymore.” He pets over Ryou’s braid, trying to soothe him. “I like your hair like this, Ryou-kun.”

“It was windy,” Ryou softly answers, the topic distracting him. “Marik says I look like a Viking when I plait it.” He inhales a deep shaky breath. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He finally releases his grip on his cross, eyes focusing on the two men fussing over him. “You need to get back out there. They’ll be drawing the pairings for the duels.” He frowns. “Guess that means I need to go too.”

Marik helps him to his feet, hand on his lower back. “We’ll all go back out together. I doubt we’ve been missed. If Kaiba has a chance for a camera on him, he takes it.” Yugi nods in agreement, the three of them quietly taking their place back in the line-up. Marik keeps his hand on Ryou, rubbing small circles on his back. “Almost done.”

They should have expected that Seto wouldn’t give up a chance to put on a show. The announcer gestures to the screens at each end of the field. Pictures of the duelists cycle rapidly as he explains that the duels will be generated randomly. Ryou leans back into Marik’s hand as a picture of him from when the Spirit possessed him appears on the screen. “Marik… Marik!” Ryou hisses, looking ill, as Marik curses under his breath. The photo of Marik is really of his darker self as well, but Marik is far more concerned about Ryou's reaction to care. Odion’s photo appears on the screen with an X over it. The announcer explains that by not attending, Odion is removed from the eligible players. The pictures begin rotating again.

Joey’s picture appears, followed by Seto’s. The crowd cheers for them as they trade insults. Next, Yugi’s picture flashes on the screen with Ishizu’s. They shake hands to the roar of the audience. Mai’s photo covers the screen, Joey beaming at her with pride. Her picture is followed by Ryou’s, really the photographic proof of his possession, and Ryou seriously considers how embarrassing it would be to throw up right then. Mai gives him a friendly smile and Marik’s hand tenses on his back. Ryou’s voice is so quiet that no one hears him at first, Mai only catching the movement of his lips. She waves at the announcer. “Hey! Shut up, will you! Ryou said something. Go on, honey.”

“Forfeit,” Ryou squeaks out, clearing his throat and speaking louder. “I forfeit my match.”

Everyone stares at him, even Marik. Finally the announcer recovers enough, declaring Mai the winner by default of their duel. Seto steals the microphone, arguing with the announcer, stepping to center stage. “We have one player who hasn’t been placed in a duel yet. Marik Ishtar will take Ryou Bakura’s place against Mai Valentine!” Joey gripes at Seto for taking away Mai's default victory, the two men bickering again. The stage is dissolving into awkwardness and irritation and Ryou can't look away from the photos of the Spirit and Marik's alterego on the display.

Marik can hear the hitch in Ryou's breath, warning of a breakdown. “Kaiba, you asshole,” Marik mutters under his breath, stalking over to Seto. “I am not a monkey to dance for your amusement while waiting for you to get your ass kicked by Yugi again! I forfeit!” With a well-practiced flick of his hair, he pivots, stomping back to Ryou and grabbing his hand, a string of equally well-practiced Arabic curses falling from his lips as he leads Ryou off the stage, flipping Seto the bird with his free hand.

 

* * *

Both their cell phones light up before they get back to Ryou’s apartment.

_Yugi: R U OK?_

_Ishizu: Was that language really necessary, brother?_

_Yugi: Worried about u._

_Joey: Mai & I want ya to know we think yer awesome!_

_Joey: Comin to the party tonite? Drink Kaiba’s beer with me!_

“Hey, that’s actually a tempting offer.” Ryou hands Marik’s phone to him, neither one replying to any of the messages as they curl up on the sofa. “We could drink on that jerk’s dime.”

Marik only gives him a suspicious look, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I have to see that son of a bitch’s face, I’d puke. RA! I can’t believe he thought he could force us into a fucking tournament.”

“Yes, you can.” Ryou pulls his knees to his chest. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why I went with you. We knew he’d pull something.” His hand reaches over to draw Marik’s hand out from under his arms, lacing their fingers together. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Lavender eyes watch their hands, the anger slowly draining. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Marik heaves a sigh, uncurling his arms completely. “I still kinda want to kick Kaiba’s ass.”

Ryou snorts. “I’m sure he needs it.” He squeezes Marik’s hand, voice soft. “You called me habibi. I know what that means.” Marik’s face turns a light coral. “I liked it.” Ryou leans over to kiss his cheek. “Maybe one day, I could call you something more than just a friend.”

Marik brightens, cupping the back of Ryou’s neck to tug him closer. “Maybe one day.”

Neither finds it strange when they end up naked back in Ryou’s bed, sweat-slick bodies rolling around the sheets, each trying to draw soft, sweet noises from the other. Marik is surprised, however, when Ryou reaches over to the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Hair freed from his braid sticks to his face as he looks down at Marik, eyes questioning. The man under him smiles and spreads his legs, nodding his consent. Ryou’s slick fingers are cold against his opening, causing Marik to squirm and laugh breathlessly, gasping as one finger breaches his ring of muscle.

Ryou leans over Marik, both their faces flushed with pleasure, kissing him gently. His tongue licks into his mouth as he adds a second finger, scissoring them, focused on relaxing and opening him. When he curls his fingers up, it takes a few tries before Ryou drags his fingertips against Marik’s prostate. The Egyptian jerks away from the kiss, gasping for air, grabbing at Ryou’s shoulders. Precum drips from his slit onto his abdomen, eyes slamming shut as Ryou continues to press against his gland. Marik begs, pleads, head tossing against the pillows, writhing on Ryou’s fingers.

He whines as Ryou pulls his fingers out, forcing his darkened eyes open as Ryou carefully rips open the condom foil and slides it down his length, pouring more lube over the condom. He’s incredibly nervous as he nudges against his asshole until Marik lifts his head to kiss him. He curls his hand over Ryou’s to guide Ryou into him, head dropping back as Ryou slides into him. It’s nothing like when Marik and the Spirit fucked and Ryou’s slow, steady thrusts are sweet torture for him. Marik finds his body moving with Ryou, not fighting against it like the Spirit’s, freely moaning, fingers pressed into Ryou’s pale skin.

The Brit can’t compare this with when he lost his virginity. He’s in complete control, for the moment, though he feels that control slipping, slamming into Marik and making him arch. There’s a pricking at the back of his eyes, unaware of some broken piece of himself slipping back into place. It's not healing, he's not whole, but that hurting part of himself seems to ache less. His hand fits between their bodies, fingers curling around Marik’s shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts, murmuring encouragement.

Marik slips back into Arabic as he rambles, muscles tense, drawing in huge lungfuls of air. He cries out Ryou’s name as he clenches around him and orgasms, cum streaking up his abdomen. Ryou purrs his approval, bucking into him, thrusts shallow from Marik’s tightness, until he cums as well. He collapses onto Marik’s chest, both men breathing heavily. Once their limbs feel less like jelly, they separate and clean up, Ryou changing the sheets while Marik showers.

Ryou twists his wet hair into a bun after his shower, crawling into the bed next to Marik. He curls against Marik’s side, head on his chest. He’s not sure Marik’s still awake when he speaks. “Stay here. Don’t go back with Ishizu.”

The other man trails his fingers over Ryou’s back. “I almost asked you to come back with me. Habibi…” Ryou can feel Marik’s heartbeat speed up under his cheek. “I know you can’t forgive me, but maybe we-”

“Marik love,” Ryou lifts his head, smiling down at him, cutting him off. “I forgave you months ago.”

Lavender eyes widen as he reaches up to cup his face. “You did?! When? Ryou…”

He shrugs, rolling to his back. “Probably about the time I started falling for you.” He grins and tugs Marik closer again. “You can’t be surprised.”

“I totally can!” Marik drapes his arm over Ryou’s waist, lying on his side. “Does this mean that one day you might come back to Egypt with me?”

Ryou gives him a sweet kiss. “Maybe one day.”


End file.
